


daniel ricciardo goes to therapy

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen, Self-Indulgent, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20664284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	daniel ricciardo goes to therapy

His relationship with waiting rooms has always been lacklustre at best. His school record says it all: hardworking in spite of frequent absences, but needs to work on proper posture within the classroom. Friendly, occasionally disruptive. Could do with more patience and quiet. 

It feels like the framed quotes on the wall—_the good life is a process, not a state of being_—are mocking him. His leg bounces incessantly until a bored receptionist tells him to go into the second office to the right. He nods at her and gets up. Pathetic as it may be, he has to psych himself up before knocking.

“Hi!” says someone. She’s bright-eyed and probably thirty centimetres shorter than him. She steps aside. “Come on in!”

Daniel does. Her office’s much more conspicuous than the lobby; the colours are still muted, but there’s a handful of papers and pens strewn across a desk, and he immediately realises she’s the type of person he wishes he could be full-time.

She sits on a small armchair and waits for him to ensconce himself on the sofa opposite her.

“Hi, doc,” he offers dully. He doesn’t actually know what to call her—Blake had scheduled this appointment, not him. 

“Please,” she says. “I’m not a doctor, just Karen. And you must be… Daniel?”

“That’s me.” 

Silence fills the room. He glances around awkwardly. “Shouldn’t you interrogate me or something? I mean,” he blurts out. 

Karen smiles softly. “I’m not sure what experiences you’ve had with psychologists, but I assure you that’s not how I deal with my clients,” she explains. “I’d rather you steered the conversation. That’s the best way of getting to know someone. You can talk about whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He’s not sure she actually means it. 

“Sure. Just remember reporting rules. Unless you threaten harm to yourself or others, nothing you say comes out of this room.”

He looks down at his lap and shrugs meekly. “Okay. Well, I’m assuming you know something about me. Jesus, I sound like such a dickhead when I say that. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think you sound like a dickhead,” Karen says. He’s mildly bewildered by her informality, but then again, he’s already kind of surprised he isn’t lying on a couch and hearing a sixty-year-old tell him he actually wants to shag his mum. “You _are_ well-known, aren’t you?”

“I guess? I don’t feel famous. It’s like—sometimes I realise I have more followers than Mumford and Sons or whatever, and it’s weird. I never expected that kind of publicity, even when I thought about making it into F1.”

Karen’s lips quirk in amusement. “I don’t deal with cases like yours very often,” she says. “I usually refer them to sports psychologists or practitioners with more experience than I have. But your PA specifically asked for, and I quote, _a generic therapist_.”

He flushes red, though she doesn’t comment on it. “I know it’s probably a little insane, but it was one of my conditions,” he confesses. “It wouldn’t feel normal. I just wanted to do this without it being related to racing. Like everything else in my life.”

“Of course,” Karen says. “You are a person when you’re not in the car. You’d never imagine, but I have a life outside this office.”

Daniel gasps in mock surprise, pressing a hand to his chest. “No way! Really?”

“Yes way,” she says. “Outrageous, I know. I bet you even have friends and relationships.”

“Jeez, don’t even say it,” he groans.

“Not doing too well in that department, then.”

He chuckles bitterly and runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic acquired halfway through his first season in F1. “Not really, no. That’s… one of the reasons I wanted to see you. Wait, that sounded _so_ wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I can tell when a client’s hitting on me, and you’re not,” she tells him. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Just…” He shakes his head, gesturing vaguely like he always does when he can’t quite find the words he seeks. “It’s one of those things everyone goes through. Long relationship, breakup. But I guess it’s not normal for a guy to go through his first breakup when he’s, like, twenty-six.”

Karen shifts slightly in her seat. “That _is_ a hard situation,” she says. “How old are you now? I assume it’s been a couple of years?”

“Wow, I look that old,” he deadpans, raising his eyebrows. It takes all of two seconds for him to break into a grin, wide as ever. “Nah. Yeah, I’m twenty-eight now. Almost twenty-nine. Jeepers, I’m ancient.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my age,” Karen jokes. He’s taken a liking to her very quickly; it’s hard not to, with her kind gaze he can’t possibly mistake for pity. “You’re young, don’t worry about it.”

“Kind of?” Daniel says, scratching the back of his neck. “I think if I were in a different world, maybe I wouldn’t feel I’m aging so fast. But I spent years working side by side with a teenager, and so many people I knew already retired or moved on to new things. It isn’t really an issue for me, because I’m not afraid of being old. I still have the drive to win, I feel I deserve to be the best in the world, that’s never been an issue.”

“That makes sense,” she says. “I suppose being in an unusual field of work makes you feel as though you’ve missed out on many normal experiences.”

He stretches so he can splay his arms across the back of the sofa. Jemma had complained about this habit once, back when he was stupid, the official descriptive phrase for _happy_. “Yeah. That’s why we broke up—um, she broke up with me. My last girlfriend, I mean. We lived together in my Monaco apartment, but she never considered it home, and she hated the constant travelling circus thing.”

“Did she go with you to events?” she asks, poking right where it hurts the most.

“No, she didn’t. She hated it, so at one point I stopped asking. I guess I was so focused on this thing, this one thing, I kind of neglected my personal life. And everything fell apart like a little house of cards. I was doing three, four hours in the gym, watching other drivers’ onboards, spending hours on the simulators even though I hate ‘em. I didn’t even notice I was feeling like crap until everyone started telling me stuff like—hey man, you don’t look so good.”

“Keeping tabs on your emotions and thoughts is usually helpful,” Karen suggests. “You don’t have to share it with me, but being able to look back on what you felt over the past week or month can aid you in pinpointing the root causes of any perceived issues. Most people I work with have a mood tracking app.”

“I’ve been writing a diary, actually,” he says. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I have.” 

“Oh?” She flashes him a smile. “Most men I work with think that’s too girly.”

Perhaps it is, but then again, he’s never had the best high ground to judge that. “I loved _One Tree Hill_ when I was younger, I can’t talk.”

“I see. What have you been writing? Some deep reflections or just talking about your day?”

“Actually… I’ve been thinking a lot about—dying. Which I know is weird, but…”

“Death anxiety is certainly understandable when you make a living on a racetrack,” Karen notes.

“No, that’s not it, not really,” he says, searching for the proper way to convey the bizarre terror lodged in the back of his mind. “Like, I don’t feel I’m more in danger than anybody else. It’s not the eighties, the risk of death doesn’t turn people on—that’s kinda messed up, right?” He looks at the ceiling. “I’m scared of it in general. The idea of not knowing what’s coming after this? Terrifying.”

She thinks for a moment before saying, “Why are you afraid of death?”

“No beating around the bush with you,” Daniel remarks, avoiding her eyes. “I dunno. I’ve thought about it. I just don’t like the idea that I might have to stop moving, stop doing things, not doing the shit I love anymore.”

“Stop moving, huh,” she repeats. “You’re very fidgety. That might play a role in your fear. Physical movement helps you unwind, doesn’t it?”

He looks down at his bouncing leg and laughs sheepishly. “I don’t know how to turn it off. Sorry. Yeah, maybe it has to do with that. I’ve never been able to just quiet down. My teachers hated it.”

“Don’t worry about it!” she reassures him. “It isn’t a bother for me, unless you see it as a problem—if so, we can work on it… next time we meet. It’s been forty minutes already, can you believe?”

“Already?” Daniel can’t help the surprise in his tone. “Okay, I’ll get off your hair.”

Karen rolls her eyes fondly and gets up to shake his hand, a firm grasp that exudes confidence and patience. “You’re not a bother, Daniel. I look forward to seeing you again.” 

“The feeling’s mutual,” he admits, because he feels like she should know he’s thankful. Before opening the door, he asks, “I’ll be back next week?”

“Yes! Just make an appointment with the front desk, I’ll confirm it with you a day prior.”

“Sweet,” he says, and walks out with some new kind of hope in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t been to therapy in months and I really need it. Ha.
> 
> Set early 2018.
> 
> Karen is based on my real life therapist.
> 
> Blake Friend is Daniel’s PA.
> 
> Daniel does actually have more followers than Mumford and Sons.
> 
> “I was stupid, the official descriptive phrase for happy.” Daniel Handler, _Why We Broke Up_.
> 
> ”The risk of death turns people on.” Chris Hemsworth as James Hunt, _Rush_.


End file.
